


Butler for a Day

by Kisuru



Category: Death Note
Genre: Caretaking, Humor, L is not readable like always, Light-Hearted, M/M, Masuda is a dork, Masuda slacks off, Small Hints to Bigger Romance, Telepathy, at least more light-hearted than I think it should be, but his slacking off leads to something else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisuru/pseuds/Kisuru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the team Masuda is just a slacker without an eye for detail. He takes nothing seriously.</p><p>The immense pressure of taking care of the world's greatest detective sounds absolutely insane to Masuda! A dream. After all, L never pays attention to him and his antics.</p><p>One day, L's viewpoints may have to change when Watari takes a sick day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butler for a Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gonergone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonergone/gifts).



Reclining on the couch with head on the armrest and legs sprawled out over the side of the couch, Matsuda reveled in a short moment of relaxation. After organizing paperwork for too many hours to count, he was relieved to take a ten minute breather. Unfortunately, this was about as menial as his tasks over the last few days had been—arrange papers into the right color-coded information folders, rinse and repeat.  
  
Even as a rookie cop he had not signed on for desk duty. But he could see the gleam of importance in L’s gleaming eyes whenever he dropped the enormous stack of paperwork in front of him and his spirits would lift. L’s trust no matter how minimal in him was always enough to make his chest swell with pride. At least no one accused him of ever mixing up anything, and things had been dull—if dare not say peaceful—lately. Still, he anticipation prickled up and down his skin to do something worthwhile just to keep up his contributions and impress L with anything other than mundane paperwork.  
  
Too lost in his own dreamland of praise and respect, Matsuda only noticed the shadow soundlessly hovering above him a moment too late. He instantly went straight with his back rim-rod straight against the cushions. He peered around himself wildly and squinted at the bright overhead lights, shielding his eyes.  
  
“I wasn’t sleeping on the job! I really wasn’t, Ryuuzaki!” Matsuda laughed nervously. No, that would not be enough to evade any onslaught of resentment and annoyance.  
  
A throaty chuckle bounced off the wall behind him, the man’s voice deeper and more refined just through a laugh alone than Ryuuzaki’s voice ever was. Matsuda’s shoulders slumped just the slightest in realization. Whoever it was, Matsuda’s defenses lowered drastically. He definitely was not Ryuuzaki back from the conversation Chief Yagami had dragged him to earlier in the morning with the rest of the investigation crew.  
  
“Don’t worry about me,” Watari said. “I only entered the room and saw you here, and I only just wanted to talk for a minute.”  
  
Matsuda glanced up in time to catch sight of Watari gaze. Dressed in his usual sharp hat and formal suit he looked as impeccable as always. Except for the one item that stood out like a sore thumb on the Englishman—the fact he wore a white mask over his nose and mouth and his voice sounded half-muffled  by the light fabric was most certainly not inconspicuous. Matsuda raised an eyebrow at him in question.  
  
“Watari.” Oddly, Matsuda’s throat felt parched. Speaking to the man was a rarity. After all, he never had anything to say to him. Ryuuzaki spoke to him the most often because the man stuck to his side like a baby duckling trailing his mother across a big pond’s strong current. “I, um… You’re right, I just took a small break! Why are you wearing that mask?”  
  
Watari coughed, a harsh sound like a stone on glass. He adjusted the mask with a tug across his cheek. “I’ve read it’s only polite in Japanese society to cover your face when you’re sick. That way, you don’t trouble others, isn’t it? I hope it’s not strange I follow that custom.” Even though his face was covered, it was obvious a smile hid beneath the mask. “But, gathering ourselves back to the main topic, the question I wanted to ask you may seem like a bit much now. He seems to have worked you to the bone.”  
  
For Watari to be sick… It was surreal to realize that L’s caregiver of all people could be sick of a simple cold. At least, that seemed to be what the signs were pointing to. Such a mysterious and polite man had been stomped down on from a simple illness.  
  
Wait, if Watari was sick and L never could leave his desk unless it involved the case—  
  
A train of thought skidded to a halt on the tracks of realization in Matsuda’s brain.  
  
“I’ll do anything for Ryuuzaki!” Matsuda pleased. He had no idea where the vigor for work suddenly came from, but he squared his shoulders, instantly pumped up.  
  
Watari hummed thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, today I can’t take care of Ryuuzaki, as you may see,” Watari continued. “I’ve tried to do my daily duties. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he noticed my slower movements this morning, and I don’t want him to have to worry even at a semi-peaceful time like this. Would you be my replacement?”  
  
The suspicion had blossomed in his thoughts, and Matsuda had wondered where this line of conversation was able to lead, but he was all alert now. The freight train slammed directly into his gut. He gasped. “Really? Me?” Matsuda immediately jumped to his feet. He peered side to side to make sure that he absolutely was the only one there.  
  
Imagine him, Matsuda Touta, providing service to the infamous L! It was a hundred times more of an honor than playing Misa-Misa’s manager.  
  
“Yes, I am talking to you, Matsuda-san,” Watari assured.  
  
Matsuda breathed harshly. Soon enough, his brain caught up with his shaking hands, and he balled his hands into fists to calm himself down. “Me… doing something that challenging?” When Watari did not retract his offer after a beat of silence, his heart beat faster. However, his face fell as soon as he thought of Ryuuzaki’s leering, darkened face. “Ryuuzaki will probably call me an idiot if I screw up again.”  
  
Watari half-coughed, half-laughed and waved a dismissive hand.  
  
“He may call you an idiot, that is no doubt, but you should remember that he is focused most of the time, and appreciate your help if he is concentrating.” Producing a chipboard Matsuda had not noticed because of Watari’s mask, Watari handed him a what looked like a schedule. Everything was written in effortlessly tiny, perfect kanji and hiragana. “Right now, there is nobody else here qualified other than myself to take care of him. But I see something in you today I think Ryuuzaki should see. Regardless, I’ve taken the time to write down all the assigned tasks I do every day.”  
  
Watari saw something in him that he wanted Ryuuzaki to see? Matsuda frowned. He would ask, but he was not even positive he wanted to know the answer.  
  
With a second smile that could not be seen, and just as if he knew Matsuda’s reply without any words, Watari rearranged his hat and placed his shoulder on Matsuda’s shoulder. “I’ll give you my luck. After all, a genuine caretaker has to read the mind of the one they’re taking care. I don’t think there’s anyone who knows how to help someone than someone who knows how to relax themselves.”  
  
Matsuda’s head lowered and he scratched the back of his head. Usually, that was a bad thing that he was criticized endlessly over, but… He gulped at the sight of the lengthy list. This would be demanding beyond belief, but… Having L appreciate him for a split second floated to the forefront of his mind and he nodded eagerly. “Where do I start?”  


* * *

  
After Watari left the room to return to his quarters, Matsuda was all by himself. Yet, adrenaline skittered in his veins.  
  
_Okay, first, Ryuuzaki needs his morning tea and pie. I thought he usually had cake?_ Matsuda tilted his head. Hopefully that wasn’t a mistake. _That should be easy enough._ Matsuda skimmed the schedule and tipped it upside and down. As long as he followed Watari’s directions, he should be properly capable of helping L with anything that he could throw at him. _Whoah, this will take all day! But I can do it… probably…  
  
_ Retreating to the kitchen, Matsuda did a double take when he returned to the main investigation room. His hands felt sweaty under the pie plate, and the tea clattered on the small dish in his other hand. Avoiding this scenario had seemed possible for at least the first few hours of the day, but on the other hand…  
  
L sat impassively in her normal, crouched over position on the chair in front of the computer and TV monitors. Apparently, he had returned from the meeting alone.  
  
Breathe. In and out, Matsuda reminded himself to breathe steadily. Or he tried to. Okay, he had this, he could do this. He had to do this for L’s sake, not just his own. He wanted L to feel some of his bright-eyed morning cheer! He was always so grumpy-looking.  
  
L scanned the content of each screen carefully, and he barely twitched. Matsuda approached, clumsily balancing the delicate cup with a hot to his step. No, he could not drop anything if he wanted L to be impressed. Mistakes were not optional.  
  
Matsuda placed the two items down next to L. Immediately, L broke his eye contact from the screens like a thunderbolt out of nowhere headed straight for its unsuspecting target. Matsuda stared in stark shock, wide-eyed at his reaction. Did he have some homing bacon for sweets or something? Maybe that meant the preparations he had made were a success? After all, he had made the tea. Watari had apparently baked the cake, but…  
  
L’s lips pursed into two deep lines down his mouth.  
  
No, he did not seem impressed. He did not seem impressed at all. Matsuda’s chest tightened. What had he done wrong? Should he have introduced what both were like a chef would? But he wasn’t a chef! He was just a simple man! Well, he could do try. Matsuda opened his mouth, feeling like a floundering fish, when static buzzed through his head. Wincing, he placed a hand to his forehead and bit his lip, hard.  
  
Matsuda blinked, lost for a second. Something fuzzy… he could make out something from a far distance. Suddenly, he heard a voice that was not his own reverberating in his skull like an echo bouncing off the perfectly pristine walls, a lone water droplet falling in the arid desert sand.  
  
_… not cut right… not enough… this won’t do at all…  
_  
Matsuda froze as the words hit home. If he could have, he would have leapt out of his skin in terror. It only took him a second to realize it was L’s dull, uninspired voice channeling  through his brain as he evaluated the pie  in front of him disapprovingly.  
  
_What’s_ _happening_? _What’s going on_? _Why_ _can_ _I hear him_ …!? _Did I touch something weird, do I have some weird power like Kira?_ Matsuda clutched at his head now, hair sticking up straight at a weird angle under his palms. _This_ _should_ _not be happening. I can’t be hearing Ryuuzaki’s thoughts about pie and tea, I just can’t!  
_  
“It’ll have to do,” L decided without much of an argument. That was it, that was all. He did not make a single fuss about the matter. Perhaps he had expected so little based on Matsuda’s talent. His voice was a veil full of intrigue, a poker’s lies without the farce.  
  
But Matsuda could hear it; he could hear the sheer disappointment. The denial and sigh of regret that laced L’s tone under the anticipation for pie was genuine and downtrodden, the kind of emotion someone kept to themselves without a single word otherwise because it just was not worth the hassle to argue and throw up arms about the matter. Matsuda could not feign knowing nothing if it made Ryuuzaki that unhappy.  
  
L’s pale hand took up fork to the pie. Matsuda beat him to the punch, picking up the plate out of his reach. L paused in mid-stab. He slowly peered upwards and stared at Matsuda as though he had grown antlers and the world’s largest pimple on his cheek.  
  
“No, no! Wait, I’ll come back. I’ll make it better!” Matsuda felt like a fool for babbling on—revealing that he had heard his thoughts was an absolute refusal—but he had to explain himself somehow.  
  
Once again, he placed the cake on the table. He retreated to the kitchen and procured a knife. He stopped there, however, and scratched his head.  
  
“What did Ryuuzaki mean when he said that not enough?” Matsuda racked his brain. He searched the kitchen high and low until he stumbled upon the unsuspecting bottle in the refrigerator. On the shelf, he found it snug and secure behind more junk food.  
  
Matsuda snatched the whipped cream and some extra fruit. L had not thought of extra blueberries, at the very least, but he had to try to think on his own two feet here so he would not just take directions from L. He had to show some spine. And what better way to get some punch in his day than a change in color? Strawberries were too common.  
  
Panting, Matsuda scampered back into the investigation room. He rushed over and cut the corners of the pie just a little bit more so it looked even. Next, he squirted the white frosting around the spongey sides to make small, pearly edges. Carefully, he applied blueberries, two at each side and three in the middle of the slice.  
  
L, meanwhile, watched Matsuda in rapt fascination, finger to his lips the entire time.  
  
“All done!” Matsuda announced, stepping back.  
  
L did not mumble anything. He continued to stare, then shrugged, and finally took the fork in his hands. “Where’s Watari?” he asked in his usual nonchalant tone.  
  
Okay, this is not the question Matsuda expected at this point. But hey, no big deal.  
  
“Oh, he was sick today, and he asked—“ Matsuda’s dry throat nearly choked him, and he gulped—“me to take care of you! Isn’t that great! I’ll be helping you all day!” He might have been too enthusiastic about his duty too much, but he simply laughed it off. Because what else could he do? Helping L hardly meant he could not be himself.  
  
Something flashed across L’s face. He did not voice this at all, but he rolled the fork between his thumb and pointer. “Well, that’s too bad, but he has a strong immune system. I know he’ll come back soon. Very well, I suppose,” L relented.  
  
Slowly, L brought a piece of pie to his mouth. Matsuda heard nothing else, and L chewed on the bite without any displeasure written across his static face.  
  
“W—Wait, you’ll really accept me, Ryuuzaki?” Matsuda’s eyes shone. If he could do this right, even if it was a small feat, L may respect him! A little respect would go a long way on the investigation team. His cheeks reddened, and he was sure it was the heat in the room—he should bring in a fan. “I’ll do my best if you will, I won’t be an idiot—“  
  
“Yes, yes, I know I called you an idiot yesterday,” L cut in and agreed. He poked a blueberry with his finger and picked it up. “But, you see, I think I underestimated your abilities. You were very strategic and I want to give you an opportunity to redeem yourself. I think you understand more than you let on.”  
  
Matsuda stared blankly at L, flabbergasted. Did he just… finally… did he actually say something that was not mean or rude or insulted him? Well, it was not like he did flat out insulted all the time and used him as a punching bag. Matsuda pulled his weight around here, but… Matsuda was still in pure awe and bliss. He felt like he was doing way too much of this today, but L was not calling him an idiot for once.  
  
“I—I was strategic? About what? I only cut your pie the way I thought you would like it.” His heart beat quickly in his chest, a feeling much akin to a screwdriver tightening the screws in his heart one at a time until his heartstrings just about burst.  
  
“Yes, which is what I was referring to, Matsuda-san. Like so.” L pointed at each edge of the pie piece and then the pearly beads of whipped cream. “You cut it into a perfect triangular shape. I saw your mistake—you clearly had a square earlier, a very ugly square—but you must have realized that you made a grave error.”  
  
“Of course I did!” Matsuda pumped his fist around the whipped cream bottle.  
  
“I was worried you’d actually leave as a square in a perfect 180 degree angle, but you proved yourself much more capable.” L shoved a hunk of crust in his mouth. “And you even added 76 percent more whipped cream and 26 percent more blueberries than I anticipated you would. It is not perfect, but edible.”  
  
“Edible?” Matsuda echoed. Now, that was partly a bad evaluation, wasn’t it?  
  
L nodded and popped a blueberry into his mouth. “Pie is not essential without either, especially plain pie—which apparently must have picked without realizing it. Pie is not complete without as much whipped cream as possible, which would have been fine heaped upon the plate by approximately 15 percent more about the edges. Still, these extra strawberries have accentuated the flavor ten times with their sweetness. You may not have added many, but you made up for it with precise calculations. You really are good at math, aren’t you?”  
  
Question marks floated above his head. Too much math. Matsuda had hardly cut it to precision or done anything math related. He had even done everything in a big, jumbled hurry. But who was complaining? He would agree with the good results. After all, he had done it right. That was enough for him to celebrate.  
  
Matsuda felt the sweatdrop bullet down his neck. “Haha, I see… I guess?”  
  
L seemed pleased nonetheless. After devouring the more blueberries, he dug his fork into the last few bites of pie and nodded agreeably. “As you can see, this is adequate. That’s why I’ll hold off on calling you an idiot. But I expect you to continue working.”  
  
“Of course I will! Very hard!” Matsuda promised.  
  
Ryuuzaki approved of him. It really was not much of a victory in the long scheme of things, and he still had done it based on some weird power that had not returned. Doubts still twirled and tumbled in Matsuda’s brain like woodpeckers grinding at his skull. Even so, he would just have to step up his game and prove himself to Ryuuzaki.  
  
_Victory! But I still don’t know why I could hear his thoughts… or maybe I was imagining_ _it._ Surely, Matsuda had to have imagined that after all. He was not that crazy, or hoped not, and certainly the Kira investigation had not gotten to his brain so viciously.  
  
“So,” L interrupted with a wave of his hand around their headquarters, “I’ll look forward to what else you have up your sleeve for the rest of the day, Matsuda-san.”  


* * *

  
Not surprisingly, L was silently a demanding person that never spoke up, but expected that Matsuda to read his mind every moment. Matsuda swore sometimes, under the radiating blue light from his computer monitor, he almost looked like a majestic prince concocting battle diversions and coordination.  
  
Oh, no, L never voiced any of his requests to the open air. His thoughts were impenetrable—but his basic needs were written on his face, projected to the world, a look starving for attention. It would have been extremely helpful to Matsuda to take notes, but he went about the day doing the chores listed. First, the pie incident had gone off without a hitch, so he continued on to tidying up L’s paperwork while being extra careful not to mix up any sheet. In fact, Matsuda over a period of one hour developed a further respect for Watari’s constant vigilance and surveillance over L’s every unvoiced call.  
  
When L would slump in his chair, he needed a refreshment booster.  
  
When L stared at the screen for too long, that meant that Matsuda handed him whatever he mumbled for in whichever folder he asked for (and, yes, being the one who had sorted the paperwork in the first place had actually benefited him this time!)  
  
But… At the end of the day, Matsuda shuffled back into the investigation room. The others had filtered in and out all day long, and things had become rather quiet, the room painted a midnight blue under the computer monitor glare.  
  
Unceremoniously, L plopped back against the edge of the desk chair. His head titled forwards towards the keyboard, and he snored silently. Matsuda stared at him, marveling at L’s usual intense and overpowering aura calmed in the quite and rapid hum from the computer towers. Clicking in his mind, something seemed… off. Eyeing the couch that he had lazily laid on in the morning without any reason to do much work, he caught sight of the red throw blanket perched on the top. Matsuda grabbed it, came back to the desk, and covered L with the blanket across the lap.  
  
“Honestly, Ryuuzaki, you’ll catch a cold as bad as Watari’s if you continue like this,” Matsuda half scolded. He snorted to himself. As if the ingenious L could fall to a mere bug from the cold. But in that light, Matsuda could see how utterly human L was without constant pressure to distract his overwrought mind, his mouth agape and arms dangling over the armrests.  
  
Matsuda fell gracelessly on the chair directly across from him, the chair that Light usually occupied. He lifted a hand to his forehead, wiping off the sheen of sweat and sprinkles of sugar that stuck to the edges of his hair. After the whole ordeal, he was exhausted and ready to call it quits for the day now that most everything had winded down. He was beat, and nobody could say that Matsuda Touta had neglected his job for today!  
  
First, though, maybe he should check the Internet a bit… Oh, he  could do that!  
  
Carefully, Matsuda reached towards L’s hand on the mousepad. He hesitated, his mouth dry. Touching L seemed so wrong on so many levels. That was the hand of justice that brought down criminal after criminal and would eventually, in the future, stomp down on Kira. But… well, now, he simply wanted to touch it to play around with the computer. Shrugging, he removed L’s hand from the mouse. He blinked and held it just a moment too long while his brain jammed to a halt, heat in his chest. He looked at Ryuuzaki’s slumbering face and breathed in, slowly and surely, reminding himself he was asleep.  
  
_… nice… do something different… now know…  
_  
Mouse in his palm, Matsuda paused mid-click, jumped in his seat just as he had the first and last time he had heard that echo of words, and glanced at L. And here he had thought he was not indeed half insane like Kira. Had L thought about something again, and what did it mean? L’s thoughts were a major jumble this time. His face showed that L was right smack-dab in the middle of dreamland because he was so relaxed—L could never hide that he was awake with his serious attitude. Matsuda should not have been able to hear anything in his sleep unless it worked awake and in dreams.  
  
Something different… Did that mean he wanted a change of pace and he had no idea what to do about it? Matsuda was a master at the strange and unordinary. But what could Matsuda do to give L a change of scenery holed up in this little room?  
  
Well, there probably was nothing he could do that would realistically cross the boundary between such a cramped place and the outside world. L was keen to have the place as spacious of empty thinking room as possible. Matsuda sunk in his seat a little, defeated instantly. Trying to jostle him from job would bother him again after doing so well today.  
  
Might as well get back to that important Internet surfing business.  
  
“Oh, I know!” Forgetting about L for a minute, Matsuda exclaimed and scooted closer. He glanced at L to make sure he was not being too loud, brushing his arm on accident a few times, then typed in the streaming Website’s URL. He clicked on the bulletin on the front page and watched the page load eagerly. When the video snapped into focus, a boom of sound blasted through the earphones L had dropped on the table next to him.  
  
Everyone on the task force made fun of him for watching sports so leisurely, especially late at night. But honestly, none of his fellow police officers understood the thrill of it all! Television was not just a way to unwind after a brutal day, but it was also the best way to information if he was out on the hunt for such things. Take for example Misa-Misa. How was he supposed to know all the latest trends as her manager if he did not watch idols in their natural habitat? But this was a sports program, and tuning into the sport itself was the best way to gauge the players and the team’s strength as a whole. Sports brought up a wealth of information to talk about in small conversation if need be!  
  
_Poke_.  
  
Matsuda froze. His brain fizzled to a stop. His eyes hurt in the dim light.  
  
Another tap on his shoulder.  
  
“What are you doing, Matsuda-san?”  
  
Matsuda yelped. He whipped around to face L staring at him expectantly. He sheepishly scuttled back, pulling not only his hand but his whole arm along with him as thought his fingers were singed from a giant ring of fire.  
  
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t goofing off! I promise I wasn’t goofing off at all, Ryuuzaki!” Matsuda pleaded, voice echoing off the walls. He calmed down easily though with heavy pants and stared at L hopefully. “Just taking a break from standing around all day… I thought I’d see what you were up to on the computer… But I mean these are top secret files, so I didn’t mean to snoop! I’ll do whatever you want me to do, just say the word!”  
  
But it was not that that stopped Matsuda before he could prattle on. L’s shallow, sullen eyes had ventured elsewhere. He was now practically glued to the computer monitor except for the fact that he had a almost uncomprehending frown across his features. The white light from the white-brown sand in the middle of the baseball field and the extra bright green grass circling it reflected off his eyes in the darkened room.  
  
“Why are the people in crowd cheering, Matsuda-san?” L asked.  
  
Why are the people in the… huh?  
  
Matsuda followed L’s gaze to the monitor and absorbed the play that was now in place. The pitcher raised his arm high; the ball sailed straight past the baffled batter, and the catcher caught it easily. But it was not the same for the next time. The batter’s bat smashed directly into the ball. The small sphere grew into a little blimp across the field as the opposing players raced out to catch it. The man, as speedy as they come, rushed past each base straight for a homerun and another victory for his team.  
  
Sure enough, it was a late evening baseball game and the crowd in the stadium screamed in triumph for whichever team had scored. The announcer boomed in a mile a minute about how the player’s performance would change his whole career if he could keep it up and motivate his team’s morale.  
  
“Oh, I guess their team is doing really well. That’s why, the crowd is really happy that guy just made a homerun.” Matsuda sighed. “Which reminds me, I haven’t been able to watch any baseball lately! I shouldn’t watch it though… haha…” Matsuda’s face fell.  
  
However, Matsuda was amazed when L did not make any movements to grab the mouse and click the little red X in the right corner of the screen. Doing so would have been incredibly simple. He continued to stare at the screen with that one particular dull expression Matsuda had picked up on during the day. The expression was, oddly enough, the expression L used when something in the Kira investigation perplexed him above the highest level of perception if it managed to dodge his reach.  
  
_… never… seen… baseball game…_  
  
Suddenly, it clicked in Matsuda’s brain with those few words like the key of truth tapping at the lock that had been barricaded with rocks until then. Matsuda clutched at the edge of the desk, floored and almost upset. He could not believe what he had just heard.  
  
“Are you… Could it be… Haven’t you ever watched sports? No, baseball?” Matsuda’s voice did not detour from his aghast astonishment with a unbrindled horror. Yes, his television habits could spiral out of control sometimes. That was, when Matsuda allowed his mind to swim in the clouds. But a man that had never watched a sports game, or a baseball game while in Japan, really did not get out of his shell to live his life.  
  
Is that what L always did?  
  
Matsuda expected another answer than what he received.  
  
“I can’t say I have watched any sports,” L murmured. He popped the a leftover cherry in his mouth from a leftover plate of cake and chewed thoroughly but thoughtfully. “Of course I know all the rules and regulations. I also know the names concerning major players involved in criminal cases, or connected to criminal records. If you would like a in-depth analysis of one such famous case from China, for example—“  
  
Matsuda raised his hands to quell L’s tirade of onrushing information. He stared slack-jaw at him. How this was remotely possible was extraordinary. “No, I don’t need to know all that. But that’s not the same thing at all! You’re joking. You don’t watch sports for your own enjoyment. At all.”  
  
“Not at all,” L parroted. Silence reigned for a minute. He shrugged, “Tell me about it if you’re so knowledgeable. What’s the appeal of running on the field and getting yourself injured, sweaty, and on the bad side of the other team? Getting on the bad side of a criminal could get me killed if they find out my whereabouts, but they’re running in front of an entire crowd of people where the whole world can be.”  
  
Matsuda blinked. Of course L would think something that.  
  
“Um…” Matsuda clarified his options. L obviously was not an outdoors person, so he could be at a loss for the players chasing a ball on the field. “Well, for the thrill. It isn’t about the other team hurting you. It’s just about having fun, getting exercise, and knowing you’re strong enough to hit the ball while everyone watches. And knowing that you can beat the other team in a friendly environment makes everyone happy.”  
  
L’s gaze started to fall away. Matsuda thought fast this time.  
  
“Besides, that two there has a secret weapon,” Matsuda said brightly.  
  
L’s eyebrows raised. Reeled in like a fish. “Secret weapon?”  
  
“Well, that player right there, for example,” Matsuda pointed out with a tone full of conspiracy at the man who had just pitched the ball, “I’ve seen this team play a few times. The pitcher. Normally, he is incredibly fast! He can throw the ball so quickly that you can barely see it. It’s like a blink of the eye, like a jet in the sky! That’s how he got the ball past him the first time. He must be having an off night.”  
  
Watching still, L watched as the man did as Matsuda said in a repeat of the footage. The pitcher pulled back his arm and launched in a graceful wallop; the ball flew so swiftly at it appeared a tsunami had carried the ball straight out of the batter’s range the first time, the ball swerving wildly but effortlessly.  
  
“You don’t say. If that’s the case, I see…” L said with a nod. “He does seem strong. He’s obviously practiced many times to become that proficient.”  
  
Matsuda nodded a bit. Finally, he followed along, even if he would still need many lessons about sports in general. Would that be his job from now on? A jolt shot through Matsuda’s spine and he grinned like a fool. Realizing he had relaxed a bit too much, though, he straightened again. He frowned once L did nothing to reprimand him.  
  
In fact, L reached over to Matsuda’s cheek and swiped at his cheek. Matsuda saw in time he dished off a dab of frosting from his cheek that had apparently gotten there earlier during one of his many cake runs during the afternoon. L raised it to his lips and licked it off as innocently as possible, either knowing what he had done or just that much more excited to have any bit of frosting he possibly could have. Maybe a little of both.  
  
Hands flying in the air, Matsuda’s shell-shocked face spoke volumes.  
  
The most infuriating but admirable thing about it was that L did not mention the action.  
  
“Matsuda-san, no, I wasn’t going to call you anything rude,” L said while not addressing anything he had just done or implied. Nothing he said was done with malice or even looking at him even. He slumped back in his chair further. “But you did a good job without Watari guiding you around like a lost puppy, I’ll admit to you for once. If I wouldn’t mind asking, I suppose… Now, teach me more about baseball.”  
  
Still mortified in a way that sent his blood warm but chilled at the same time, Matsuda grinned like the idiot he was. Because he could admit it, only absolute happy idiots grinned like he was—a mystified clown plucked right from the throes of the circus. “You’re going to regret those words, Ryuuzaki! And maybe one day we can even drink like everyone else does while watching sports! It’ll be fun.”  
  
Oh, well. He would decide what the hell had just happened later.  
  
L shot him a deadpan, dead-eye glare. “Don’t push your luck, Matsuda-san.”  
  
Matsuda just laughed and plucked the last cherry off L’s plate. L glared at him, but he could always just get him another one if Watari’s sick day needed an extension.


End file.
